A Tickle in Time - Chapter 5 (m>f)

[Agent 498]

Subj: A Tickle in Time, Chapter V (m>f)
From: cs...@panix.com

A TICKLE IN TIME, Chapter V

THE FOLLOWING WORK OF DEATHLESS PROSE IS NOT FOR THOSE UNDER 18.

Elbows jabbed Jessica's ribs and feet stepped on her own. She was
outdoors, in the midst of a small but tightly packed crowd, mostly women,
children, and old men. They were dressed in ragged, shabby clothes -- so
was Jess, whose current body was female, middle-aged, and stout -- and
shock and despair were on every face. The children wept, while the adults
muttered despondently to one another. Jess couldn't see what they were
looking at, but above their heads she could see that they were surrounded
by a soaring structure of blocky, gray-white stones.

SALISBURY PLAIN, 51 N, 2 E, 44 AD

For once, Jess didn't need the CPS to tell her where she was --
Stonehenge. And in 44? Did the Lowry connection extend that far back? She
shoved through the crowd, trying for a better view, and was brought up at
the edge by a Roman soldier with a spear leveled at her middle. "Stay
back,
cow," the Roman said in a thickly accented version of the local Celtic
dialect. Jess scowled at the insult but stayed where she was, studying the
scene.
The crowd was jammed up against a megalith by a cordon of legionaries,
and roughly a hundred more soldiers were drawn up a short distance away,
standing at attention in geometrically perfect rows, sun glinting off
polished leather and bronze helmets. A big, beefy man in a slightly more
ornate uniform paced back and forth in front of them. And a short
distance
away, a thick wooden post had been thrust into the ground just in front of
the altar stone.
A woman kneeled with her back to the post; looking closer, Jess
realized that her wrists were tied to the ends of a rope that looped
around
the post, her ankles likewise. She was petite, with a long shock of
red-gold hair and fair skin, dressed in a plain gown of dark green wool.
Her feet were bare. She held her chin high and glared at the Romans.
Abruptly, the beefy soldier quit pacing and turned to face Jess and
the rest of the crowd. "Now hear this!" he shouted in a parade-ground
voice. "You have been brought to witness the fate of the woman Poeni, who
is accused of fostering treason, speaking against Roman authority,
practicing black magic, and leading others in the forbidden worship of the
Druids in this very construction. The usual penalty for any one of these
crimes is death, and I -- Centurion Regulus of the Sixth Century, Seventh
Cohort, II Legion -- have been given the responsibility of dealing with
her." He turned and walked toward her, drawing his sword.
Poeni seemed unaffected by his words. "Do it, then, Roman worm! My
followers will rally against you, and if you spill my blood on this sacred
ground, the true gods will rise up to consume you! You will never know
peace again!" she hissed.
The centurion stopped in front of her. "I have no wish to create a
martyr for your misguided cause," he said. "But you must pay for your
crimes, and the gods have shown me the way to deal with you." With a swift
motion, he thrust the sword into one sleeve of her gown and slashed
downward to her hip, then did the same on the other side. Poeni gasped in
surprise, and white flesh gleamed in the rents in her gown. The centurion
turned back to his men, sheathing his sword. "Marius!"
"Sir!" exclaimed the first man in the first row.
"Tickle this woman. When you're through, Valerian will take over,
then
Gaius, and so on through the century. I've been authorized to offer
double
this month's salary to the man who does the best job torturing her. Hop to
it!"
"Sir!" Marius exclaimed again, grinning widely. The other
legionaries
also looked greatly amused as he approached the stunned Druidess, although
a few seemed embarrassed or puzzled. The Britons around Jess were
speechless, while Jess herself seethed.
"The gods, my unacceptably-wide-this-trip ass! I know just who put
that idea in that goon's head," she thought. "And why does Central keep
sticking me in such useless bodies? Why couldn't I have been the
centurion,
or even one of the soldiers, instead of a fat old woman on the wrong end
of
a spear?" The need to hit something was growing in her as she looked
around, trying to spot some sign of the 'jumper.
Of course, she had to admit, it could have been worse. She could have
been dropped into Poeni. The Druidess's face was a mask of hate, and she
fought and thrashed violently as Marius squatted beside her and slipped
both hands into her gown through one of the tears. She shouted: "May your
hands turn black and rot off! May your penis tie itself in a knot! May
your
-- " but broke off abruptly as his fingertips touched her side, though she
still struggled against her bonds.
"You were saying?" Marius asked, lightly tracing the delicate shapes
of her ribs and hipbone through her flesh. "Don't stop now -- it was
getting interesting."
Poeni ducked her head so her flaming hair swept across her face like
a
curtain. "I'll waste -- no more words -- on a -- a -- a beast of Rome,"
she
choked out in a strained voice.
"An excellent idea," Marius said. "I expect you'll need all the
breath you can spare very soon now." One hand's fingertips spiraled around
a small, firm breast, while the other nuzzled into her ribs, tickling
each
one in turn. Poeni shuddered and tried to pull away. Marius reached
across
to take hold of the other side of her ribs and began to work away in
earnest, each twitch of his fingers met by an answering jump and wriggle
from her body. "Centurion, are you sure this is the leader of the
rebels?"
the soldier yelled to Regulus. "I can't imagine this ticklish little girl
ever troubling us!"
The Romans laughed raucously at that. The atmosphere in the stone circle
now resembled a frat party more than a disciplined military unit.
Grinning,
Marius looked back at the Druidess -- just in time to receive a wad of
spittle directly in the face. For a frozen moment, the astonished Roman
and the flushed, defiant Briton stared at one another, and then Marius
straightened expressionlessly, wiping his face. "One down, darling.
Ninety-nine to go," he said, turning to rejoin his fellows.
Valerian, the next man, circled around Poeni with exaggerated
caution,
finally kneeling down behind her, out of her view. He remained there for a
long minute until, finally, Poeni craned her neck to look back -- and then
he reached out and raked his nails down her upturned soles. Poeni's feet
jerked forward, and her strangled whimper was clearly audible through the
circle. Jess winced, remembering her all-too-recent torment on Freud's
couch. Valerian continued to scramble his fingers across Poeni's feet
until her head snapped back to the front again. She was breathing rapidly,
her lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line.
"Ticklish feet, too?" Valerian asked. "That's cute. And tempting."
Poeni put on a show of ignoring him that fooled no one. "I can't keep my
hands off them ... " He held his fingers a fraction of an inch over her
soles, wiggling them lightly. "Which would be worse for you, I wonder --
down here between the toes, or up here -- "
Poeni, unable to bear it any longer, twisted around once more.
Valerian pounced, fingers flashing wildly. With a thin shriek, she faced
front again, and the tickle torture ceased. Her face was a shade pinker
than before. He picked up her right foot. "Yes, you've got pretty little
feet." He began to trace a fingertip over its contours as he continued
speaking. "A perfectly curved arch ... a strong, firm ball ... no calluses
on this toe ... or this one ... or this one ... " The little redhead was
quivering in her bonds like a nervous racehorse, unable to bear the slow
teasing but unwilling to react and give Valerian an excuse to break into
full-fledged tickling once more.
" ... And it's a lovely pink all over," the legionary finished. "But
-- oh, my goodness -- how could I have missed that? You've got a gob of
cowshit stuck right here. Don't worry, I'll get it off." And he began
scratching industriously with all his fingers at the mythical cow leaving,
which was located at the highest point of her arch, where the skin was
most
delicate. Poeni's head was down, her shoulders heaving with effort; one
foot kicked wildly, drumming on the ground, though Valerian held the other
rock-steady as he worked. Squeaking giggles drifted through Stonehenge.
Jess found herself hoping that Poeni would break down and laugh --
otherwise, the Druidess might give herself an aneurysm. Finally, Valerian
put down her foot and straightened, patting her on the behind. "You're
pretty tough," he said half-admiringly. "But it's still two down,
ninety-eight to go." Poeni, hanging limply and breathing in shallow
gasps,
made no reply.
The next three legionaries were inept, grabbing and squeezing more or
less at random; when they were through, Poeni had actually regained some
of
her composure, and the Romans were even more frustrated by her obduracy.
The sixth, Isatis, asked the centurion, "Sir, may I forfeit my turn? My
wife would murder me if she knew I'd been tickling foreign women."
"So who's going to tell her?" the centurion shouted back. "And if she
does find out, tell her you did it for the glory of Rome!" The other
legionaries yelled encouragement as well. Shrugging, Isatis approached
the
post.
"Boy," he said, getting down beside Poeni, who stared straight ahead,
ignoring him. "I'll tell you, I don't know where to start. You're a strong
little lady." He ran his hands through his hair. "Not like my wife -- she
falls down laughing if the wind hits her the wrong way." He put an arm
around her waist, forcing her body forward, while his other hand slipped
inside the gown, gently rubbing her belly. "What really drives her crazy
is this spot here, right under the navel. All I have to do is dig in like
this, and she goes positively insane." Poeni's stomach had previously
proven to be infertile tickle-ground compared to the rest of her body, and
while Isatis's touch made her wriggle a bit, it was obvious from her
expression that being tickled there was nothing more than an annoyance.
"See?" Isatis said seriously. "Not a giggle out of you. You're sure
making us look like a lot of fools here. Only people laughing here are
your followers" -- he waved to Jess and the crowd -- "and they're doing it
up their sleeves. I mean -- "
"Shut up and do your duty, legionary!" screamed the centurion. "Whose
side are you on, anyway?"
"I tell the truth as I see it," Isatis said mildly. "And truth is,
you
got us beat, lady." Poeni raised her pink, dripping face to stare at him,
her expression unfathomable.
"Maybe it's 'cause you're on your holy ground here and you got your gods
with you. Maybe if we took you out of here, you'd break -- but I don't
think so. Wish you were more like my wife. Then all I'd have to do is go
like this ... " Taking a knife from his belt, the Roman sliced through the
rope holding Poeni's wrist to the post, seizing the wrist and raising it
above their heads. "All I'd have to do would be threaten to tickle under
her arm. But you can take whatever we dish out. Right?" He let go of the
wrist. Immediately, Poeni dropped her arm, clamping it to her side and
pulling her other wrist free of the tangling ropes.
"You're too strong for us. Right?" the legionary asked again. The
Druidess looked at him, then beyond him to her small band of supporters,
to
the smirking ranks of legionaries. Then she tossed her head defiantly,
red-gold hair flashing in the sunlight, and slowly but firmly her hands
rose, exposing her underarms within the torn sleeves.
"Brave woman," Isatis said, reaching in to circle his fingers around
one soft hollow.
She twitched wildly, and her eyes went wide with the glassy stare of
someone who's just realized that they've made a terrible mistake, but her
arms remained aloft. "You're a real example," the Roman said, stretching
out his other hand so he could tickle both underarms simultaneously. Poeni
writhed back against the post, making small mewling sounds as her arms
sank
to half-mast and froze there, trembling as she fought the reflexive
impulse
to protect herself from the maddening touch. Her face had cycled up to
crimson. "Are you all right?" Isatis asked, a teasing note suddenly
entering his voice. "Does this tickle you too much? Don't tell me the
terror of southern Britain can't take a little tickle-tickle-tickle" -- he
grabbed hold of both small wrists with one hand and forced them back up
again as she lurched forward, spilling uncontrollable giggles. His free
hand continued the nonstop tickling, jumping from one armpit to the other.
" -- right here under the arms?"
"STOOOOOOOPPPP!" The scream rebounded off the ancient megaliths.
Immediately on its heels followed a torrent of laughter as the little
redhead's much-tested willpower finally gave way entirely. "No
moreheeeheeheeeheeeheee! I'll -- eeeeee -- do anything! Just don't
ticklehahahahahahaaaaaaaaaahhhhh -- "
"Guess you're not so tough after all," Isatis said, releasing her
wrist and stopping the tickling. "Too bad for you." He leaned closer to
whisper in her ear. "Oh, and -- six down, ninety-four to go." And he rose
to cheers from his fellows.
After that, it was a rout. Poeni was quickly retied with her wrists
above her head, and if she showed any signs of resistance, it proved
necessary only to tickle her armpits to start the wild laughter coming
again. The centurion gave her a rest and a drink of water after every ten
men, but never long enough for her to gather her composure again. While
the
twenty-sixth tickler was teasing her soles with a long bit of grass, a
legionary with a bow brought down a raven, and after that each man had a
handful of black feathers to use on her white skin. She shrieked and
bucked
as raven plumes found their way between her toes, into her navel and ears,
along her sides, and, inevitably, around her hypersensitive armpits. She
still fought like a wildcat against each and every tickler, but now her
struggles were interspersed with frantic mirth and unheard pleas for
mercy.

The sun was setting by the time the hundredth legionary had had his
way with Poeni, barely wringing a few last gasping giggles from the
exhausted little Druidess. The doubled salary went, of course, to Isatis.
Once the display was over, Jess and the remainder of the British audience
were curtly dismissed by the centurion, who began organizing his men for a
night's camping. Four legionaries were appointed to watch the prisoner;
they winked and grinned at one another, openly plotting a second tickle
attack once she had recovered some of her faculties.
Jess ducked behind one of the megaliths while the other Britons
wandered away. Poeni had to be the Lowry ancestor she'd come to see -- the
facial features were similar, and of course there was the tickling
connection. But what to do now? Could she sneak over and talk to the
Druidess in this bloated body? Sighing, she sat back against the megalith
and waited for night to fall.
When darkness had settled across the land -- no moon that night,
thank
God -- Jess rose and crept closer to the post where Poeni was held,
remaining under cover. She could hear the legionaries whispering:
"Hey, little girl, don't sleep too deep ... we're going to get you
...
four guys at once ... keep her mouth covered so she doesn't wake everyone
up ... I got dibs on the feet ... coming for you, won't be long now ... "
Suddenly, they were interrupted by four quiet but distinct reports.
As
one, the four legionaries crumpled to the ground, and a cloaked figure
stepped from the shadows. Jess couldn't see his face, but the sparkle
around him was unmistakable: the 'jumper. She strained to hear what he was
saying to the Druidess:
"My daughter, has the weakness of your flesh brought you humiliation
today?"
"It has." Poeni's voice was hoarse, nearly inaudible.
"Do you desire vengeance?"
"I do." She spoke more strongly this time, with some of her old fire.
"Then drink this." The 'jumper held something that glinted in the
starlight to her lips.
A pause, and then Poeni said, "It makes me feel ill ... "
"That means it is working. You have been changed. From now on,
anyone
who breathes the air around you will be changed as well -- they will
become as delightfully ticklesome as you. And your descendants will cause
the same changes in those they encounter -- even a thousand years, two
thousand, from now. I imagine some rather entertaining scenes when those
Romans go home to their wives and lovers ... "
Poeni laughed harshly while Jess listened in disbelief. The Lowrys
were _carriers_? Typhoid Marys of ticklishness? No wonder the corruption
was growing so quickly. Even if only a few families on each continent were
initially affected, the ticklish plague would spread rapidly if anyone
with
even a drop of Lowry blood carried the "disease." How did the 'jumper come
by such a sophisticated piece of genetic engineering -- something Jess
would have said was beyond 1996 technology?
One way to tell. Jess launched herself from hiding, forcing her
pudgy,
protesting body into a dead run. Poeni saw her first and yelled, but the
'jumper had barely turned when 200 pounds of British beef plowed into him
at top speed. He went down, breath going out in a huge whoosh and the
glinting thing spinning from his hand. Jess, though half-dazed by the
impact, barely slowed as she snatched up the thing and raced from
Stonehenge. She didn't know how far the 'jumper's ability to pull others
through time was, and she didn't mean to find out.
After an agonizing ten minutes, Jess slowed and turned, her rubbery
legs giving out under her. She was drenched in sweat and her heart was
beating like a triphammer; if she had to run any further, this body was
going to have an aneurysm. But there was no sign of pursuit. Thank God for
small favors. She turned her attention to the thing she'd picked up. It
was a small Pyrex glass vial with a cap of black rubber and a faint,
sticky
residue on the sides. Obviously not from this time, which meant that
Central might be able to backtrack its vibrations to the time and place of
its origin. Despite her exhaustion, Jess grinned. Not only had she finally
copped a break, she'd paid back the 'jumper in part for the two ticklings
he'd inflicted on her. She wished she'd been able to pause and give him a
kick in the head, or at least see his face. But final payback was still
to
come, and she was going to make it nasty as she could ... if she could
catch him, that was.

NEXT: Welcome to the Revolution, or Counter Culture.